


Trouble

by vodkasam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Suicide, Suicide Hotline, hotline, protective!Sam, suicidal, suicidal!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:54:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkasam/pseuds/vodkasam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you having thoughts of suicide?” Sam asks.</p><p>“Yeah. Got my gun right here.” </p><p>Sam’s stomach drops. He tries to stay calm, but he can hear his tone intensify. “Would you mind telling me your first name?”</p><p>“Dean."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lesli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesli/gifts).



Sam’s sitting behind a desk with a headset on, waiting for the phone to ring again. He’s got his Sudoku and his tea out in front of him, and after he finishes the number game, he’s planning on starting a crossword puzzle. He’s kind of thinking about the essay he has due in a couple days, and he’s also kind of thinking about that girl he just met, Jess, but then the phone does ring and he knows it will require his full attention.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

A beat passes. “Well, you know why I called.” 

Sam raises his eyebrows a little at the voice, but goes on. “No, sir, all I know is that you called a suicide hotline. I have no idea why. How about you tell me a little bit about what’s going through your head?”

“Uh, okay, well, my dad just walked out.” Sam’s really starting to think about this voice. It can’t be… “And so now I’m on my own.”

“Are you feeling hopeless?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam says sincerely. “Have you thought about hurting yourself or taking your life?” The man doesn’t answer. “I know it might feel strange to talk about, but it really is important that you tell the truth.”

“Yeah,” the man says, and judging by the embarrassed tone that accompanies the word and the fact that Sam can practically see the slouched, exhausted body language that goes along with it, he’s 98% sure his theory about the man behind the voice is correct. 

“Are you having thoughts of suicide?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. Got my gun right here.” 

Sam’s stomach drops. He tries to stay calm, but he can hear his tone intensify. “Would you mind telling me your first name?”

“Dean,” Dean answers, and Sam can tell he’s forcing a smile. 

Sam is frozen for a moment. He wants to throw up. He wants to get to his brother and hold him until everything is better. He wants to run away. But he can’t do these things, because Dean is too messed up right now to even recognize his little brother’s voice on the phone.

“O-okay, Dean. Can you tell me some more about what’s got you thinking about suicide?”

“It never seemed the way to go, but now… I don’t know. My brother left me, my dad left me… the only reason I called was because I didn’t want my last conversation to be a fight.”

Sam is nodding. This is typical Dean, always trying to make things better last minute. “Do you have any friends or family that could help you, come distract you?” Sam asks, but he already knows the answer.

Dean laughs bitterly. “Nope. I’m on my own.”

“Sounds like you’re feeling pretty alone.”

“I always feel alone,” Dean says, the light tone disappearing. “Even when I’m with people, it’s like they don’t even see me.” Sam’s heart grows heavy at that; Dean has always been his hero. To think he doesn’t know how Sam thinks of him… Sam has to bite his tongue to stop himself from confessing his identity right then and there.

“I’m really sad to hear that, Dean. Your dad and your brother – where did they go?”

“My brother’s at Stanford right now and I’m proud of him and all, but I felt really betrayed when he left… always hoped he’d be a hunter like me ‘n my dad, but wasn’t the life for Sammy. He’s wanted something concrete, stable, normal, for long’s I can remember. And my dad, well he’s always been a drunk but it’s even worse now with Sammy gone. I drove all the way out to where he goes to college just to see if I could feel him just by being closer, but I…” Dean sounds close to tears, and he starts rushing. “I just made it harder on myself, you know, being so close and not being able to see him or talk to him or hug him, it hurts, it hurts real bad.”

“Dean I need you to slow down for me, okay?”

Dean’s breath is coming in gasps, and this could either be a really good sign or a really bad sign. Either way, he’s coming up on his breaking point, which is what Sam needs. 

“It’s okay. You’re talking to me, and that’s great. You’re doing great.”

“I don’t even know-“ gasp “what I’m supposed to be-“ gasp “doing.”

“Talking, just like this. You called me to talk, right?”

There’s a pause, but Sam can still hear Dean’s labored breathing, so he knows he’s still there.

“My lungs are shaking,” Dean says, sounding panicked. This is a good sign too, but Sam knows better than to be relieved yet. “My teeth are chattering, but it’s not cold. What’s happening?”

“It’s just anxiety. Totally normal. It means your body is working great. Dean, listen to me, okay? I’m here to help. I can help you, and I really want to help you. I just need to know what to do for you.”

“To be honest,” Dean says, and he’s starting to gain control of his breath, “I didn’t really call for help.” He sounds ashamed. “I just want someone out there to know what happened to me. Why I did it. Even if you don’t know my last name.”

Sam hears an unmistakable click of the gun, and the phone is set down. 

“Winchester!” Sam rushes out, trying not to burst into tears. “Your last name is Winchester and so is mine.”

Dean is almost inaudible as he asks, “Sammy?”

“Dean,” Sam whispers. “You can’t. You can’t do this to me, _please_ don’t do this!” Sam's tears start spilling over, but he knows the most important thing to do is to hide them. This is something Dean has to decide on his own. Sam doesn’t want to guilt him into it because that won’t last; Dean needs to choose to live for himself. 

Dean laughs, tries to make a joke, and anger flares up red hot in Sam. “Don’t you dare.”

Charlie, one of Sam’s coworkers is coming over with tissues, which Sam accepts gratefully. She looks concerned, and when Sam mouths, _my brother_ , her eyes widen even further. 

“Dean, where are you?” There is a silence. “If you don’t tell me, God help me I _will_ call 911, and I’m pretty sure you’d rather it were just me.” More silence. “Dean!”

Sam’s hands are trembling and he can’t stop touching his hair, his face, trying to hold onto something. Charlie senses this and pulls up a chair. He lets her take his hand and run her thumb across his knuckles over and over and over, warm and comforting. He squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. 

Taking a chance, he tries, “Dean put the gun down.”

“No.”

“Dean, please. _Please_.”

“Sammy, I have to.”

“You don’t, I swear. I swear you don’t. I’m here and I know you hate me but I’m always here for you-“

“I don’t hate you,” Dean mutters.

“Dean,” Sam says gently, and a muffled sob comes through the phone. Sam bites his lip. “Listen to me, okay? You said you’re by Stanford, right? I’m three blocks from there. I’m at the hospital. Do you want to come to me or do you want me to come to you?”

“Don’t wanna move,” Dean says brokenly.

Sam nods. “Okay. Okay. Where are you?”

There is a hesitation, and Sam gets nervous again. Not sharing location is textbook sign of still being committed to going through with it. As fragile as Dean is, though, Sam is fairly sure the promise of Sam at his side will keep Dean alive just a little bit longer.

“I’m at the Starlight Motel. Seven,” he says quietly, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief and gives Charlie a small smile. She nods.

“I’m gonna call you from my cell, okay? I want you to pick up that call and I’ll hang up this one, alright? I’ll be there so fast you won’t even know.” Sam takes the silence as Dean’s agreement, and he dials Dean’s disposable with his own. 

“Hey,” Sam says comfortingly as he hangs up the desk phone and rushes down the hall. Charlie will clear him with the boss – this was literally a family emergency. “I’m here.”

“Sammy,” Dean says, his voice so broken that it makes Sam move even faster. 

“I’m coming, D, I’m coming.”

Sam runs every red light he comes to and breaks every speed limit. He’s at the motel within four minutes of hanging up the first phone call. Dean opens the door before Sam even gets to it, and they crash into each other, hard, hugging like they’re the only two people in the world. That’s how it feels. 

Sam can feel the weight of Dean’s gun on his back in the embrace, and a chill shakes through him. Sam breaks the two of them apart and leads his brother to the bed by his gunless hand. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean says before Sam even opens his mouth.

Sam gives him a sad smile. “We have to. You’ve still got the gun in your hand and I would really rather you live.” 

The brothers look at each other for a long time. Full minutes pass in silence, both of them lost in thought as they stare into the other’s eyes, eyes they missed more than anything. Sam notices tears lining the rim of Dean’s eyes, and forces himself to stay calm. _Please don’t kill yourself, Dean, please, because if you do then I will too. Please stay with me, Sam thinks, I love you, I love you, I love you._

Then there’s a click. Sam’s whole body seizes up, and his lungs constrict. “No!” he shouts, but then Dean is handing him the gun and starting to sob, burying his face in his hands. 

Sam breathes a sigh of relief. He quickly puts the gun on the floor and kicks it across the carpet. On. He was clicking the safety _on_.

“Why did Dad go away? Why did Mom have to die? Why does everyone leave me, Sammy, am I that bad?”

“Of course not, Dean,” Sam murmurs. “You were the reason I almost didn’t go. When Dad and I started fighting, I knew I had to go to get away from him. But you… I never wanted to be away from you. Some days it was so hard not to be able to see you or talk to you that I felt like I couldn't breathe. Dean, you're my best friend. I love you more than anyone or anything in this world.” 

Sam kneels in front of Dean, pushes between his legs, and lets Dean fall onto his shoulder. The adrenaline rush is over, and Sam can’t keep the crying in either. They cling to each other, tired and sad and relieved, for as long as they possibly can. Sam ignores the ache in his knees, and Dean pretends his back doesn’t hurt, because it’s that important that they stay together, stay touching, stay connected.

When Sam starts to fall asleep against Dean’s chest, Dean helps him up and they climb onto the bed, fully clothed, and tangle together yet again. Their skin feels strange from the tear tracks, but neither moves to wipe them away. Dean buries himself in Sam, and Sam puts both of his arms around his brother. Breathing in Dean’s scent has almost never felt so good. 

“I missed you so much,” Sam whispers.

“Missed you more,” Dean replies softly.

“Not possible.”

Dean smiles into Sam’s soft grey tshirt as Sam slips his hand through Dean’s hair and down his shoulders to rub circles into his back. The silence isn’t so loud to Dean’s ears now, especially with Sam’s quiet, sleepy breaths there to interrupt it. Dean exhales deeply as he hears the calm rain start outside the window, and lets himself close his eyes. He isn’t alone anymore. His Sammy is back, his brains aren’t on the wallpaper behind him, and he has a heartbeat. Dean adjusts a little in Sam’s arms and allows himself to succumb to sleep.


End file.
